Alfred Journals I
by Kumquatodor
Summary: Alfred finds himself having to care for a young Bruce I wasn't sure if this was K or T, so I rated


Author's Note: This is a prequel to my Batman continuity. Tell me if I should do more.

Alfred's Journal

December 24, 1983. 3:33 AM

I would be lying if I were to say that I was not depressed. Everyone I know is dead. Denny. Bill. Bob. Jim. Mark. Well, Mark lost it a long time ago.

Ha. I made a joke. I guess that's good.

But Mark, Denny, Jim, Bob, Jasmine, Rosy, all the rest, they signed up for it. They joined the Intelligence Agency knowing very well that they could die in the field.

But Thomas and Martha Wayne were watching a movie. A simple movie. Walking home, they were killed. Shot.

But I know that I shouldn't get too down. Young Master Bruce survived. I think. We are in his bedroom. I haven't been able to leave him yet. Here he is , curled up on my lap (I think he's asleep), but he doesn't seem like Bruce.

I had worked under many people throughout my days of butlerry, and now I worked for the cities favorite family, the Waynes. It was my first day working for them, yesterday was. I was the Waynes' only butler at the moment, and I wanted to make a good impression. I didn't get much of a chance, however; the Waynes went to see a movie.

But soon, I got my call to duty. The Waynes were late; it was 11:20. The movie was set to end a 10:25. When they weren't home, I went out to find them. I arrived at the theater at 11:33, and there were no Waynes in sight. I looked about, trying to find them. I was more than a little worried.

What if... No! Not in Gotham! Gotham was the best city in America! That couldn't happen. But then I heard the soft sobs. Coming from the alleyway. Wayne alley. Symbolically named after the family who saved the town from the depression back in 1933. I peered in, almost afraid of what I'd see.

Master Bruce was kneeling there, over his parents' bodies. I had been a medic, so I knew what happened. I instinctively notice the little patches of blood. I assessed that Martha Wayne died instantly. Thomas Wayne wasn't so lucky, shot possibly in the lung? He stayed alive, no doubt writhing in pain. Bruce must've watched his father die. It probably took thirty seconds or more.

Then I saw Bruce's hands. They were fists. Mangled. Shaking slightly. Bloodied. Just like the wall beside him... Wait... Did Bruce... The wall was splattered with Bruce's blood. Bruce had punched the wall. What else would explain his broken wrists?

My god. What to do. I had to think fast. Nothing came. Come on, Alfie! Think!

Bruce was probably in shock. I wrapped my coat around him, but Bruce shook it off. I tried a few more times, but Bruce absolutely refused to be comforted. I asked for his hand, and in response, he hugged me. I was the last he had. I hugged him back. I scooped him up into my arms.

I was 55, but I was still strong enough to carry his eight-year-old body.

Boy, 55. How can I take care of Bruce? When he graduates, I'll be 65! I still haven't figured out how I'll help him...

I was a qualified doctor, so I wrapped his fist with my jacket, trying to help swelling. I took him to a police station. I reported the crime while officers were trying to comfort Bruce.

I told Jim Gordon about the murder, and he visibly deflated.

"We'll help the kid," he said "but... with the Waynes gone, there'll be no one to stand up to the corruption. Poverty will come back with a vengeance. No one will fund the police department. The mafia will come back."

"There's still one Wayne." I told him, matter-of-factly.

Can you believe this guy? Corruption! There is no chance. Gotham wasn't going to become corrupt! If anything, it'll become better! The mafia! I laugh at the thought! How ridiculous! That's as rediculous as those alien myths.

If I'm wrong, may God send a giant monster to try to eat me. Or Bruce! I bet on the Waynes' graves. It's been an entire day, and there haven't been any monster trying to eat Bruce.

Maybe, though... No! Gotham won't let the scum rule!

Still no giant monster...

Wait! I hear something! Something faint. In the house. Is it... No! There is no monster! There will be no corruption. But, as soon as I thought the deal, I start hearing sounds! This sound must be some kind of dark omen. I am briefly reminded of Edgar Allan Poe's _the Raven_. No this is ridiculous!

'Tis the wind, and nothing more! But the sounds persisted. I have to investigate. Be my heart still a moment and this mystery explore!

I calm myself, and take a deep breath. I carefully move Bruce off my lap. He looks at me, and mumbles something incoherent. I've woken him.

I'm wandering out of the bedroom, into the living area, the source of the sound. I see it! The grandfather clock. I'm slowly walking up to it, holding my breath. I don't know why I'm being so quiet. I'm not a spy anymore! I've reached it, and... A bat. A bat is stuck in the glass.

I sigh. Good. Just a bat. I'm opening the glass casing, holding the little guy. "How'd you get back there?"

Now, out of the corner of my eye, I notice it. A crack. There was no wall behind the clock. The clock is too heavy to move.

There must be a button or something. The clock no longer ticks; it's at least 100 years old. What if...

I turn the hands to 12:00 midnight. I hear something catch, and the clock slides sideways.

In front of me is a gargantum hole. A cave. There is a small staircase leading down to the bottom. I flick a light switch beside the entrance.

The heavy industrial lights turn on, and then burn out immediately. Now I hear a stirr in the darkness. Something ravenous. Something dark. I just might get that monster I'm looking for. I hear it. It's coming...

Out of the darkness shoot a million bats. I turn around and dive to the ground, the bats flying above me.

I look over, and in the middle of the room, Bruce stands, being swarmed by the bats. I expect him to hide in fear, but he's doing no such thing.

He is looking around at the army of bats in wonder, and a grin is slowly forming on his mouth.


End file.
